Dear Freddork,
by The Writer Triumphant
Summary: Sam writes Freddie a letter outlining her terms for their relationship. Inspired, oddly enough, by a piece from the Yu-Gi-Oh! fandom.


Usual disclaimer applies. These characters belong to Dan-the-CREATOR-Man Schneider. Inspired by**Dear Bonkotsu **by **iloveatem**.

**Dear Freddork,  
**

* * *

Dear Freddork,

Congratulations. You've finally come to your senses and realized that Carly will, in fact, never love you. Now, before you start getting some crazy idea that this letter is a declaration of my love and acceptance of your newfound love for _me_, wake up. First of all, you aren't supposed to be reading this. On the off chance that you are, it's because I was too lazy - or forgot - to trash it. But if you are reading this, then don't stop. The following are my terms, Benson:

You will not call me your girlfriend. With any other guy, I guess it would be okay, but since it's going to be you I think you should know how common and clichéd it sounds in my head. If I ever hear you call me or refer to me as your girlfriend, it's over. I am your Master, the Fox to your Hound, the Alpha to your Omega and the Memory to your Hard Drive. All those things, plus any you find equally as creative, are suitable. Also, you will not insist that I stop calling you "dork", "nerd", or any other combination with your given name. On occasion I may favor you with an awesome pet name that I will later deny, especially if it happens to highlight your position as the man in this relationship. You will not call me Samantha unless I do something you really like, and only in private.

You will never initiate a public display of affection. Secretive meaningful glances are still appreciated, encouraged, and fully returnable, but if you make a move to touch me in ways that are not platonic or even _kiss_ me, then I'll probably kick you. Similarly, you will not parade our relationship to the entire school/city/internet, though you will not hide it. In the event that some skank bag tries to make a move or someone insinuates that you make a move on anything with legs, you will make it known that you belong to _me_. If you are lucky, I will do the same when the situation arises.

Ham outranks you. Ham will always outrank you. If I am eating ham, you will not interrupt for anything, even if you are lucky enough to be _mine_. On a related note, you will buy me ham. Whenever I want it. Buy me ham even when I don't ask for it, and I may consider you slightly more important than fried chicken.

If you ever take me places to buy me food or to be entertained in concert or movie form and we happen to be alone, it id not a date. Date is just as bad as girlfriend.

I get detention. A lot. Deal with it. I know you'll probably want to spend time with me after school and on weekends, and if you're buying me food and treating me to movies and concerts I won't complain. But there will be days - many of them - when I will be in detention and you will be lonely. You may entertain the thought that I am thinking of you and possibly even doodling "Samantha Benson" on a notebook. Odds are I will be in detention for pulling a hugely fantastic prank on you and will be doing time replaying the scene in my mind.

We have only kissed once. If we become romantically involved, that will no longer be fact. Coincidently, you like to say "Practice makes perfect". Not too much practice, either. If I ever have to listen to you imply that you have "needs", I will be too glad to run down to the local zine shop and purchase you the appropriate cover-to-cover. But don't think that it will be to your orientation or that it will be given to you in private. One day we may discuss - and I'm sure some form of your mother's "safety" procedures will leak through - how to best fulfill our mutual wants.

You will not throw around "I love you"s. You will understand that I consider actions more believable than words. You are free to tell me how great I am and list things you love _about_ me. If you are very lucky, I may retaliate in similar fashion.

Lastly, you are Fredward Benson. Don't think because you are _my_ Fredward Benson that has to change. I expect you to continue being unnaturally obsessed with Galaxy Wars, technology, and fencing. I expect you to do that thing with your eyebrows when I or anyone does something that you find amusing or strange. I expect you to be prisoner to your mother's extreme first aid kit and rules so that I may free you of them. I expect you to make bets with me, try to one up me at pranks and nag at me to eat my vegetables, do my homework and in general, be responsible.

Do all this, and I am yours.

Deal?


End file.
